VOTE FOR STONE GODS!!!

Saturday, August 16, 2008

Voting has now started for the Classic Rock Awards and, as you will no doubt be aware, Stone Gods have been nominated for Best New Band and Best Album.

Get on over to www.classicrockmagazine.co.uk/rollofhonour and put your cross in the box.

Cheers

SG

Kerrang Radio Gig

Friday, August 01, 2008

On Saturday 13th of September we will be appearing at the Birmingham Barfly for a Kerrang Radio gig presented by our good friend and Disc Jockey, Emma Scott.
For your viewing pleasure, we will be joined by none other than Stuart Cable who will bang things behind us for the night.
Looks like it's gonna be a belter!

Ticketline: 0844 8472424

See you down the front.
SG

Sad But True

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

It is with very heavy hearts indeed that we have to announce the permanent departure of drummer and founding member Ed Graham from Stone Gods.
Unfortunately Ed has been physically unable, for a number of reasons, to fill the stool-position for some time and won't be able to refill it any time soon. Right now being in a rock band is simply not the best place for him.
It's been horrid and heart-wrenching realizing and coming to terms with this fact, but we all have to move on in order to keep this thing going. There is too much passion and love involved from us and from you, our loyal fans, for us to simply draw the shutters and shut up shop.

We realize that there will be some very disappointed and saddened people out there as a result of this, but let us assure you that we are amongst you. Now, more than ever, we all need to pull together and be positive about the future. I promise, it looks pretty darned bright once you see through the fog.

Unfortunately due to all of this, we will be unable to appear at Wacken festival, which is a terrible but unavoidable shame. There's a lot of that going around at the minute. Still, we're keeping our chins up and so should you! We're taking on the world regardless.

We thank you all, from the bottom of our collective heart, for your ongoing and invaluable support. You guys rule.

As always, love, respect and horns raised firmly aloft,

Stone Gods.

Classic Rock Nominations

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Hail, Hail, Rock N' Roll!

We at Stone Gods HQ are proud to announce that Classic Rock magazine have seen fit to nominate us for Best New Band and Best Album at this years Classic Rock Awards.
It is both an honor and a pleasure for us and all those who worked so hard with us on the record and everything else that makes us Stone Gods.
Raise aloft the rock chalice and drink deep, friends. This really does seem to be the start of something, doesn't it?

Love and respect, SG.

Stone Gods November Tour Announcement

Monday, July 21, 2008

Evening, all.
Well those rumors are true. In November we're out on the road with everybody's favorite antipodean rock maniacs, Airbourne. Prepare for some chaos!

Dates are as follows:

1 Nov 2008 Cardiff University Cardiff

2 Nov 2008 Bristol Academy Bristol

5 Nov 2008 Birmingham Academy Birmingham

6 Nov 2008 Sheffield Octagon Sheffield

7 Nov 2008 Liverpool Academy Liverpool

8 Nov 2008 Manchester Academy Manchester

10 Nov 2008 Dublin Vicar Street Dublin

11 Nov 2008 Belfast Limelight Belfast

13 Nov 2008 Inverness Ironworks Inverness

14 Nov 2008 Dundee Fat Sams Dundee

15 Nov 2008 Glasgow Barrowlands Glasgow

17 Nov 2008 Newcastle Academy Newcastle

18 Nov 2008 Leeds Metropolitan University Leeds

19 Nov 2008 Stoke Victoria Hall Stoke

20 Nov 2008 Nottingham Rock City Nottingham

22 Nov 2008 Oxford Academy Oxford

23 Nov 2008 Norwich UEA Norwich

24 Nov 2008 Cambridge Junction Cambridge

26 Nov 2008 Folkestone Leas Cliff Hall Folkestone

27 Nov 2008 London Astoria London

Stone Gods confirm Moon Fest in Wiltshire on August 30th

Wednesday, July 09, 2008

This is the Festivals Press Release:

It has been confirmed by the organisers that Stone Gods are to play their full set at Moonfest on Saturday 30th August at Westbury Wiltshire. The Stone Gods complete the line up for Moonfest 2008. Moonfest covers 3 different genres over 3 days, Friday 29th being dance orientated with Babyshambles headlining the main stage with support from the Artful Dodger Robbie Craig, Brandon Block and Cloudfish. Saturday 30th headliners are the Australian Pink Floyd with Stone Gods, Ozric Tentacles Leafhound JetKing Zenyth and 4th Street Traffic. Sunday features top 80’s bands including Go West, Heaven 17, Curiosity Killed the Cat Imagination and Shakatak. Prices start at only £29.00 for the best festival ever in Wiltshire. Tickets are available from www.moonfest.co.uk and www.seetickets.com Alternatively phone the Moonfest Box Office on 01793 741527

Total Rock Radio - Sunday 13th July

Tuesday, July 08, 2008

The band had so much fun last time they popped into Total Rock Radio that they're going back to do it all again this Sunday.

Richie and Toby will be taking over the airwaves between 5 and 7pm to play some of their favourite tunes and generally muck about.

Tune in, turn it up and rock out!!

SG

Norwich HMV Instore Gig on July 7th

Monday, June 30, 2008

To celebrate the release of "Silver Spoons & Broken Bones" on monday July 7th, Stone Gods will be appearing at Norwich HMV (Chapelfield Shopping Centre) to play an acoustic set and sign copies of the album.


The Gig will start at 5pm.

Rock the shop!

Love

SG

Toby's Tour Diary Part 2

Sunday, June 29, 2008

Toby’s June Tour Mega-Diary Part 2

London is it?
Usually the London show is the one everyone gets a bit nervy about. I don't specifically mean everyone in this band. I mean anyone in any band. All the business bods come to these shows. Press usually turn up. For us, a load of mates come (which can actually be more nerve wracking than not having any friends in the audience).
Today, however I'm not nervy at all and nobody else appears to be either.
Despite the very small stage, we get the majority of our gear on and it 's going to be incredibly cosy. Sweaty punk-rock show on the cards!

We just hang around the venue for a while, not bothered with wandering around or anything. I know what Islington looks like. So do you. Balls to it, mate!
A phone interview asks us about our life changing records. I choose Nevermind as it did change my life. Before that I was into the mainstream rock of the time and had the teenaged rather narrow-minded life-view to match. When Nirvana suddenly appeared on my musical map I realised that you don't have to be a misogynistic, homophobic buffoon to like rock music. I became something of a grunge evangelist as a result.

It is hot as the boiler-room in hell backstage. It's going to be hotter on stage. Neat.
I quite like the sweaty ones. Although, I've got to say this new hair-gunk I got courtesy of Tigi at the Download festival dunnarf sting yer eyes when the sweats hit you.

The crowd's a loud one tonight. A good few metal maniacs in. Whiplash goes down unbelievably well, again. As do Start Of Something. It's beginning to feel like a "hit", dare I say it.
Yes I do.

We wipe ourselves off the stage and indulge in a bit of back-slapping and all that malarkey and then Dan and I and a bunch of chums hotfoot it to The Dublin Castle for a bit of Camden caning. When in Rome and all that. Tomorrow's going to hurt, I fear.

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Out of the frying pan and into the van.
Dan and I have successfully "Overshone" and are a bit on the quiet side. It's a day off today, thank goodness. One we all could do with. It hasn't just been us on the go solidly since Robin came up to Norfolk to rescue us. Our crew hasn't had a day off lumping our gear around for eleven days either and there are small cracks beginning to appear at the corners of even the toughest of cheerful constitutions.
Johnny H, Dan and myself opt for the biggest curry of all time. It's a corker too. We eat so much we make ourselves feel a shade unwell and Hawkers and I carry our swelled bellies into the cinema to watch Indiana Jones. I really enjoy it, despite it's obvious flaws. Then it's a quick pint and back to the Inn for a well-earned collapse.

We get a proper lie-in as the venue's only around the corner. A bit too much of a lie-in, to be fair. Neither Dan or I (who are rooming together in Brum due to Rich and Robin having popped to their respective homes for their day off) awake until just after 2pm. Dreadful, really, and the fug of the over-sleeper stays with us all the way through soundcheck and into the start of the show.

They like rock music in Birmingham, don't they?
It's a bit of a belter tonight, by our estimation, and a few friendly faces agree with us after our turn. Unbelievably hot and sweaty too. Dan remarks that at one point he was looking down and it was literally raining out of his hair.
We dry off and hang out with fans and family for a bit of a jolly and then it's back to club Premier Inn for some Marks & Spunkup (©Robin Goodridge) chilli-nuts and Sake, the latter a gift from the ever-awesome Minako. Best 99p you'll ever spend, them nuts.
Many, many nut- based jokes are made and by 2:30am we decide to call it a night.

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Newcastle's blowing up an 'ell of a gale the day, man.
Windy as you fahkkin like, mate.
We just chill in our respective rooms until soundcheck. It's far too stormy to go wandering about.
It's Sunday again, too.
It was Sunday last time we were in Newcastle.
Is it always Sunday in Newcastle, I wonder?
Funny little room, the Academy. Soundcheck sounds like we're playing on a jet engine rather than on a stage. Very reflective walls, you see.
Then we do a really long, really weird interview in the drezzy. It's only weird because we suddenly get in a silly mood and keep going off on giggly tangents. A question of how the boys met me somehow turns into my pondering what it might be like to drive up the A 1 if it were made of wood. Very smooth, I imagine.

Before we know it we're in that little elevator that takes us up to the stage and we're bounding onto it to an audience twice the size of our last visit.
They're all up for it, despite it being a Sunday and we decide to reward them with a headbanging competition during Whiplash, the winner of which gets a Stone Gods t-shirt. Nice.
It's a very enjoyable show for us all, even when Dan almost sends me flying when he races over to share an "oi!" in Don't Drink The Water.
Rich clambers up onto the railing and takes the leap of faith back onto the stage. He later admits to slightly "shitting it a bit" once he'd got up there and realised there was no other way down. Luckily he escapes injury and we bundle back into the lift in what seems like five minutes.

We head over to a brilliant little Salsa bar just over the road with some friends, some fans and Robin's father-in-law and a couple of his pals.
Strange little Salsa bar really, considering they play AC/DC and Guns N' Roses almost exclusively. Good on 'em. They stay open late for us too!
Then it's a cab back to the hotel for a vin rouge and pizza frenzy that takes us nicely to 2am. Cheers!
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An early-ish start for our trip to Glasgow results in my sleeping almost all the way. This turns into a mildly bleary walk around the shops before the always classy King Tut's serve us dinner and we get started up.
The Scottish contingent of the Templars, or Temple Girls, or various versions of the moniker some of our fans call themselves are in tonight and let us know by delivering a pair of bottles of champagne and a box of fudge. Thanks from the borrum of our hearts for that. Especially from Stewey Q who was having a kitchen-tile nightmare back at his homestead and wants to punch someone until his mood is lifted considerably by this gesture. Marvellous!

The crowd is on good form tonight and so are we. Sweat drips, heads bang, grins and winks are exchanged. Rich slips slightly on the carpeted stage and twists his ankle requiring a big bag of ice and shouts of "Fuckin' 'ell it's coooolllld!" back in dressing room land.
Our chums from White Ace pop in for a glass of champers and a chin-wag. Dan and I end up going to a club called The Box with them. Sambuca rears its ugly head. Dirty seafood noodles to soak up the booze and suddenly it's 4am and we haven't the faintest idea where our hotel is. Rock and Roll. Once again, we've been Tutted.

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Robin wakes me up with a cup of tea and a "What time did you get in, you naughty boy?" and my eyes burn like the sandman worked overtime and enjoyed it. I struggle into my clothes, down the stairs and into the van where I snooze all the way to Edinburgh.
It's such a pretty place. Even when the weather's horrid.
A smile cracks Dan's face open as we discover a Pizza Express for lunge. We manage to avoid pudding for another day and make our way back to the smallest venue we've ever seen. It's a cave. Next to the "most haunted pub in Edinburgh". We consider having a really scary pint there later.
We get up to the dressing room, which is like someone's flat. Nice, but unbelievably warm. There's an air conditioning unit in the corner which barks out an almighty noise which is less than relaxing, but the snooze hounds are licking at our toes and sleepy-time drags us all in quickly.
We amble down to check our sound. The smallest stage yet doesn't sound too bad at all and we fairly eagerly await show-time.

Our crowd are a little self-conscious tonight. It's a small room and they try to get out of second gear, but don't really manage it. We can't put on a huge show on such a tiny stage, so it's a slightly frustrating gig. Still good and everyone has fun, but there's an air of restraint that we can't shake.

Everyone's looking forward to a day off.
Edinburgh's a nice place to have a day off, too. We head down to the grass market area, which has a bevy of pubs and restaurants and vintage shops. It also has a joke shop in which Stewey Q stocks up on fake dog shit, snappy-banger-things and a packet of chocolate cigs.
We settle on lunching at the American style restaurant and indulge in wine and pizza. Wing commander Haskett goes for the classic combo of Cullen Skink and a Haggis pizza. Apparently it goes surprisingly well.
"Do you want another fish?" cries Robin as we break the first bottle of wine and ask if we can have one that isn't broken. We can and Dan decides to join us in a splash of the grape.
We waddle back to the hotel and watch the football and add to our wine collection with gusto. The "restaurant"/bar is the most appallingly run place we've ever been to. People's meals are delivered wrong and late, a waitress comes up with a coke for someone but she has no idea who, the other waitress speaks so little English she has to ask the manager when we inquire about having the volume on the telly. Ramsey would do his nut, mate.
We don't let it affect our performance. Beddy-byes calls.

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Dundee is surprisingly pretty. It's always thought of as being grey and horrible, but on a sunny day such as today it's attractive streets are bustling with happy-looking shoppers and aimless but not moody teenagers.
We pop into a Spudulike for a quick lunch. I haven't seen a Spudulike for years, so it's a trip down a potato-lined memory lane for me.
Dan then decides to go for a quick bit of acupuncture and a Chinese massage because his rocker's neck is getting the better of him.
We go on ahead to the venue where Stewey entertains us with the previous days purchase of Shit In A Can. It doesn't really work that well and he considers taking it back to the shop with a cry of, "Ere, mate, this poo is shit!" and demanding his £2.79 back.

The sound onstage tonight is hilarious. Just a big honking noise without any definition whatsoever. It's service with a smile all the way though. We go on to the strains of the Indiana Jones theme tune which makes us all grin.
Just before the intro to 'Beero Stewey throws a couple of happy-snappies, or whatever they're called, and the size of our pyro-show matches the massive four lights we have. It's another giggly moment in a funny show all round.
We hang out for a bit with the fans, among whom I promise to mention, Jack, D.J. and Dave who are very excitable and do the most convincing headbanging of the night. Nice one, lads.
Then we bid farewell to the Scottish Temple Girls and jump in the van for a bus-party all the way to our hotel halfway between Dundee and Manchester, which we reach at about 3am. Out like a slightly pissed light!

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Friday night in Manchester. Let's fucking have it!!!
As per usual, it's a rainy day in Manchester. It is every single time I come here, but as I've said in previous diaries, it also always rocks.
There are some big tour busses in the carpark belonging to My Morning Jacket. I get bus envy a bit… oh alright then, a lot.
We do a couple of interviews in the drezzy and chill.
Big Linda have a great show tonight and come off drenched and buzzing. This bodes well for good ship Stone Gods.

The second the strains of Indiana Jones start up the crowd knows what the score is. It's time to rock out. And they do. Awesome stuff.
Rich's top comes off for the encore and everything. Robin comes off stage looking like someone's pushed him in a pond. A few familiar faces make the grins on our musches that little bit wider and before long we're soaking up the local fud in Big Hands.
Thank you once again, Manchester. I promised I wouldn't cry.

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In the morning Robin and I wander up to Piccadilly for a breakfast Prêt and a nose through the papers. We can't help but notice large groups of blokes dressed as women walking around. There must be a convention on. Some of them look really bad too. No effort involved at all. Get a better wig, stuff your bra, have a shave, have a fuckin' word, mate. Funny old game, innit. I can't pretend to understand it, but each to their own.
Off we trundle to Stoke.

For some reason we don't expect much from Stoke. I don't know why. It's not a big college town. And we're all a bit tired. Knackered in probably more the word.
The Sugarmill is a big box of noise. Reflections and all that. Shiny, shiny. Loudy, loudy.

The crowd don't respond to Big Linda very well, despite their putting on a really good show in my opinion. Our concerns grow.
We say well, if they don't get into it after the first three songs, we'll just fuck off, will we?

Then we're standing at the side of the stage and Jonesy pipes up.
And the crowd go fucking bananas.
Barely containing our surprise, we bound on the stage and kick things off. One of the things Rich kicks off is a bottle of beer. Off the podium and right onto the middle of my pedal board. I wait for it to go bang and stop working, but it's made of sterner stuff and Rich's apologies aren't needed at all. Have a nice moment when he dedicates Lazy Bones to "The bloke who wrote it", aka me. Ahhhhh.
Towards the end of the gig I look over and catch Stewey flipping me the bird to the beat. He's ever such a funny boy, that yin.
While we stand at the side of stage again waiting for Steve to tune-up the crowd starts a huge chant of "Stone Gods, Stone Gods, Stone Gods" and we all look at eachother grinning and wondering where the hell did tonight come from?!
Awesome stuff, Stoke.
Whiplash goes down as well as usual and Beero ends the night with a lad shouting "Youtube!" in defence of a slightly-tongue-in-cheek accusation of illegal downloading.
Nicely done!
We hang out on the roof terrace for a while, which is awesome. It's like L.A. up there. But without the swimming-pool and the models. Still, really very pleasant. We all agree that we'll most certainly be returning to Stoke.

It's a long way to Naaaaaaaaooorrich.

Toby's Tour Diary Part 1

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Toby’sTour Uberdiary So Far...

Part 1. Travels Without My Aunt.

Sitting aboard my sky bound chariot, a mile or so above Sweden, I think that this is as good a time as any to begin the tour-diary that will take us through to the end of June.
It's the first time I've typed on an aircraft. It's weird. I feel as though I should be working on a spreadsheet or something. Gladly, though, my ridiculous barnet, coupled with the little silver ring in my right nostril, gives me away as someone who spends very little time in an office and who has no experience of spreadsheets whatsoever.

I leave Porvoo at a quarter to eight on a bright and beautiful Sunday morning. Rumbling out over the cobbles and onto the almost entirely car-less duel carriageway that weaves its way through the seemingly endless forest and gently into Helsinki, I remark out loud to myself that it is a gorgeous day for a drive.
Windows wound down for one last blast of the fresh Finnish air before I hit the fug of Heathrow, the chimes of the near constant Radio Nova jingle carousing out of the speakers, I bid a warm-hearted adieu to my little scandic idyll.
No more tourists peering in through the windows for a while.
No more gentle strolls down by the waterfront to drink what men call according to an old convention "a glass of wine" and quietly watch the boating folk float by, for a time.
Yes, I just paraphrased Hermann Hesse.
Yes I am a ponce of the highest order.
The vaudevillian order.

There's quite a long queue for check-in when I get to the airport, which I, miraculously and rather inexplicably manage to circumvent purely by asking a helpful man in an embroidered waistcoat which of the many lines I should join. He tells me, "Well actually it's that longest one, but I can help you" and proceeds to check me in via a machine that no one else appears to have spotted and then points me to a line of two people who are just dropping their checked in bags off. I am amazed by this and very grateful. What a nice fellow.
There follows an alarmingly calming security process of no pushing, no shoving and lashings of patience of the kind only experienced in a Finnish airport on a Sunday morning and before I know it, here I am in seat 6C marvelling to myself about the wonders of modern travel.
I also wonder, curiously, why anyone in their right mind would ever want to join the so-called "mile-high club". Those little cabinets by the doors always smell far too like other people's bowels to ever be remotely romantic or arousing, surely?
It's of no consequence, however and I give it no more thought.
It's always a nice day outside at 36000 feet, isn't it?

Anyway, Dan's very kindly picking me up from Heathrow in a couple of hours and then we're off up to the Norfolk calm for a few days rehearsing before we blast around Blighty for the best part of a month.
It's going to be strange switching back into "band-mode" again after having just about settled into pottering around and occasionally strumming the mandolin for a month. I wonder whether I'll feel like an ex-pat yet?
I'm really looking forward to it, though, whatever it feels like.
As long as it doesn't feel like the person who is persistently kicking the back of my seat, right now. If they don't stop I'm going to throw yoghurt at them and threaten to cut their hands off, or whatever it is people in bands who lose it on planes are supposed to do. See you in England.

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Dan arrives at Heathrow red about the cheeks from a fishing trip/ sunburn interface and is feeling a "little the worse for wear", shall we say, due to the previous nights festivities. It is quickly decided I should handle the driving for the rest of the journey as, somewhat uncharacteristically, I'm not hung-over in the slightest.
It's an overcast but warm day and with the promise of a barbeque on our arrival we race across country in high spirits.

The following morning we're up at the crack of sparrows to help Adi load the gear into the van to get it to the farm.
I say, "help". By the time we get to the lock-up Adi's already loaded half the gear and all we really do is roll a couple of flight cases around and get in the way a bit. Still, it's the thought that counts, innit?

It's great to be back at Leeders Farm. As I write this I can hear Adi sound-checking my bass for me. Awesome. Back to not having to plug anything in myself. It's just as well, really because I have little or no clue as to what goes where.
As all the familiar symptoms of a rock band disturb the quiet Norfolk countryside, one Richie Edwards arrives a touch slower in movement than normal due, in no small part, to a cooking-related injury in which he's managed to throw his back out spectacularly. Dangerous places, kitchens. Super-strength painkillers at dawn it is, then. It wouldn't be a Stone Gods joint without a few injuries, would it?
For those about to rehearse, we salute you.

After approximately three hundred cups of tea and four Marlboro lights, I strike the opening bass chord for Burn The Witch and everything falls into place. My fingers remember where to go next before my brain does, the backing vocals just seem to arrive all of their own accord and as I look round at my compadres and we've all got big schoolboy grins splashed across our visages. It's good being in an ace band.

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Day two and all is well. With our revolving door policy on crew we welcome to the fold the world renowned Stuart Quinnell. He plugs things in for the delightful members of Muse usually but was able to jump on board good ship Stone Gods while Adi pops off to aid some band called the Sex Pistons, or something. The mighty Quinn' seems like a splendid chap and is known by the rest of the boys having worked with their previous project in the days of yore.

Rich begins the day in "a considerable amount of pain" but the prescribed pills will kick in shortly and he's on doctor's orders to sit down a lot, which is nice. In fact, his doctor offered to write him a sick note to get him off work altogether for a couple of days, but unfortunately it doesn't quite work like that in rock n' roll so he's putting on the bravest of faces and gritting his teeth like a determined weight lifter.
To add to our rising collective ailment inventory, I've gone almost entirely deaf in one ear. Compacted wax to counteract the effects of prolonged exposure to noise, apparently. Warm olive oil directly poured into said orifice, nightly, is the way to combat this, I hear. I'm not sure whether it needs to be extra-virgin or not, though. I'll let you know.
You can't stop the rock, however, and we bash the set into shape late into the evening.

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I wake up early to the sounds of cups a-clinking and guitars being a-plucked. There's a spot of tinkering going on in the live room so I take a leisurely breakfast and drink far too much coffee for my own good. Jittery as a bug I wait whilst Dan does an interview and some of us are regaled with stories from the charming Sea-sick Steve, who's popped over to pick up a few things he'd left here since the recording of his album.
We're looking at three full set run-throughs today so that our new crew can get used to the guitar changes and we can get used to doing full sets again. It's been a fair old while since we did the whole bunch and it's nice to fire up the songs that get left out of the shorter sets we've done. It feels like the family's back together again.

It's a regular hive of activity here today. There are two lads, both named James, on work experience running about the place as well as us lot. Good work experience, eh?
When I was at school I was placed at a solicitors firm in Brighton where they had me separating sheets of computer paper with a ruler. All day. For a whole week.
Dan went to Madder Market Theatre in Norwich, he says, and was made to pick off the old chewing gum from under all the seats and clean the toilets.
Rich weighs in with a fortnight at Yorkshire Bank (don't look for it, it's not there anymore) cheque encoding, the boredom of which he supplemented by going to sleep in the loo.
Ed wanted to do something to do with art, so naturally he was placed in a leaflet-printing factory where he spent a week folding paper and getting told off for drumming on the tabletops by a boss called Mr Heyho. Word.

If equipment can go wrong, it bloody well will go wrong and today is no exception. Much scratching of heads and "Have you tried turning it off and then turning it on again?" going on over in the corner. Still, that's what we're here for as much as anything else so that when things go tits-up in a gig situation everyone can scratch their heads and turn things off and then on again with a degree of training and a good belt of acceptance of the inevitable.
Luckily for us, our gang know their way around these sorts of things and the rock continues with aplomb. As does Ed's attempt at fishing which enjoys the same level of success as the continuing attempt to get Dan's amp configuration to work like what it's supposed to. Onwards and upwards, as 'twere.


Part 2: Pre-Tour Disasters And Last Minute Saviours

There's a dreadful inevitability about finding out your drummer's damaged his back so badly that he can't stand up, a huge black bruise snaking it's way across his flesh like a livid cloud across an open sky. And with one day before the first show, to boot.
Well, that's us fucked then.
Gorgeous day for it, mind.
With typical Adi Vines heroism and impeccable timing, it turns out that he knows a chap called Robin who's on the lookout for a gig and is really rather good on the old pans. Robin, it then turns out, is none other than Robin Goodridge who was the drummer in a band called Bush. Yes, that Bush. He's racing up here as we speak, so its action stations all round and everything's already been set up ready for battle.

While we await our knight in shining drummer, we have a test listen to the vinyl copy of the album. It crackles and hisses like proper records should, but then it starts to speed up and slow down like Ed Graham in Portsmouth and makes everything sound out of tune like Toby Macfarlaine in Oxford. "Wow and flutter" is the technical term. We think it might just be Nick's turntable, though, which has been in a garage in Wales for months. Also, it works fine on Rich's Technics bad-boys which are, of course, top of the frikkin' range.

I tell you what, though; it's warm today. Close. Very close. I'm sweating like a trapeze artist without a safety net and I haven't even plugged in yet.
We've got the next couple of days for Robin to get up to speed. We've had to postpone the first three shows due to the unforeseeable, which is a shame, but unavoidable. We'll start with Download, which is just a half hour slot, so it's not too much of a stretch for our new sticksman and then it's off to the Isle Of White and then the tour continues as planned. Everything's gonna be okay. I keep having to tell myself.
Everything's gonna be okay.

Part 3: Festivalivities



Who's playing castle donington, me or you? It's me isn't it?
The past few days have been the most rerve-nacking in Stone Gods history and I'm not even joking.
Me and my new roomy, Robin (wot used to be in that popular beat combo, Bush) awake at the ungodly hour of 8am in the curiously familiar travellodge setting and I have to roll the quickest fag in the west to avoid being the last down to the lobby.
Our manager, Ole, greets us in the par cark and sheds light on the fact that he'd slept in his hired motor to give our long suffering crew some undisturbed schlaff.
Silly daft bugger, they wouldn't have minded.
Legitimately allowed to wear sunglasses in a splitter-van is a beautiful thing, maaaan, and we watch the surprisingly pretty midlands countryside roll by as we cut a swathe towards Castle Donnington and all the 'eavy metal delights it keeps secret beneath it's battlements.
We're plonked next to Kid Rock and the delightful Black Dhalia Murder in dressing-box land, the latter of whom I later donate a lighter to in exchange for a whacking great vodka and undislosed energy drink.
Everything goes by in a flash and before I've had time to wash my museli bar down with coffee, we're bouncing around at the side of the stage like fat kids with a ritalin deficiency about to be allowed unattended access to a bouncy-village.
Rich manages to flatly refuse to address the crowd as Download and opts for the traditional, "SCREAM FOR ME DONINGTON!"... They only faaakin do, don't they?
At one point my eye is caught by none other than Rich's mum not only raising the goat, but doing so right in the middle of the pit! She just won the oscar for the "best mum ever".
These things go by in a flash like you wouldn't believe and I'm sweating and Jack-Danielsing-to-calm-the-fuck-down before I get a chance to catch my slightly overweight breath.
I get a chance to have a word, albeit briefly, with my old chums The Subways; get my heart broken by a lack of time to get a free tattoo and now, suddenly, I'm in the van on our way to the ferry which'll whisk us to the Isle of White for tomorrow's madness.
In summation, Download fucking rules. It's the first festival I've ever done which had sushi in catering and free hair-product.
Go if you can; if you can't, save up and go next year. With any luck we'll be there to provide an hour of your headbanging soundtrack.
Someone once said, "Everywhere I go, the kids wanna rock". I'm not being funny or anything, but he was right.
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The Isle Of White is awash with sunshine, sunburn and people trying to sell things to the new visitors to their streets. There seems a spirit of communal fun and enjoyment. We even witness Mr Whippy getting high on his own supply of 99's. They really ought to be called One Pound Fifties now, shouldn't they?
After a bit of faffing around due to security guards having no idea where to send bands who are playing at the festival.
We soon drive into the old school which houses catering and our very small dressing room. This is the school our tour-manager Johnny Haskett did his early learning. He doesn't appear to have been over fond of his experience. He liked going to school. He liked coming home from school. It was just the bit in the middle that was hellish.

We have a spot of tiffin in catering and then sit about in the sun for a bit. Robin and I have a wander around the festival and I'm struck by a couple of things. I'm struck by how few people are falling around drunk, like at other festivals. I'm struck by how clean and spacious it feels here, in comparison to other festivals. Then I'm struck, right up the back of my leg, by a long stream of ketchup which has been violently squirted out of it's punnet by a passing hurried foot. Normally I'd be livid, but it's ever such a nice day and that Abi from The Zutons always puts a smile on my face.

It would appear that lots of festival goers fancy dipping their toes into the waters of Rock and we storm the barn of our stage with a surprisingly good turnout for a tent when the sun's ablaze outside.
The monitors keep going on and off so the sound onstage is appalling, but we stay buoyant and giggle through the set.
We also unleash our cover of Metallica's "Whiplash". Rich asks the afternoon crowd if anyone would like to listen to some "Heavy fucking metal" and huge amounts of them reply "Yes please, that would be lovely". I think that's what they said. It may have been "Yeeeeeaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhrrrrrrrggggggggg!!!"
We leave the stage to rapturous applause and pats on backs.

Dan is persuaded that the best thing to do to complete our Isle Of White experience is being strapped into a large metal ball-like structure attached to some springs and huge bungee ropes and flung a hundred feet into the air.
He doesn't agree at all by the time he returns to earth and has to stand very still for several minutes while he gets over the shock.

The sea is very pleasantly calm as we take the ferry back over to the mainland and we all stand on deck and watch Portsmouth draw near.
We've a little rehearsal tomorrow in Brighton so Robin can get the rest of the headline-set fixed in his brain and as early a night as we can muster is required by all. So when we arrive in Brighton Dan, myself and Brad (our ever affable merch-guy) pop down to the Albert for a brace of pints before wandering off to our respective sleepy-times.

Part 4: Tour Tales.

Oxford Zodiac. Oh alright then, Carling Academy Oxford.
Still leaves a sting in the back of my throat.
We had a good, if somewhat over-refreshed show here last time and expect a good one this time around too.
Also today we greet Big Linda for the first time.
Dan and I pop our undercrackers over to the launderette before sound check and we just sit about until showtime. It feels slightly strange to not be in festival mode today. I can't get out of second gear until the moment we're on the stage when, as usual, everything falls into place and it's grins all round. Good touring.
The familiar faces in the audience lift our spirits too. The Temple Girls get a dedication from Rich and everything. Hooray for and to them!

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None of us can work out whether or not we've been to Northampton before. Robin, Dan and I have a wander about for a very pleasant lunch in the sunshine and parts of it look vaguely familiar, but nothing I can really put my finger on, as it were. Weird.
I thought I had been to the Roadmenders at some point over the years, but I haven't, as it turns out. It's a cosy little stage.
Before the gig we sit in the van and watch Semi-Pro. Unfortunately it's semi-funny and we're all a bit under-whelmed, usually Will Ferrell makes us cry with laughter. You can't win 'em all, I guess.
Our small but mighty audience is right in our faces tonight. No barrier and high stage for us. It's like playing in someone's living room. A daft punk-rock show ensues and everyone has a good time. Apart from the old geezer stood half a foot from me who continues to ask us to "Turn It Up". Stand a bit further back and get the effect of the P.A. system you aggravating old boob.

We have a chat with the gang of lunatics who are following us round the country for a while…… hahahaha, only joking. Babs and the gang are far from lunacy and their repeated attendance is very much appreciated by all of us.
No sleep til bedtime, of course and I'm cream crackered, so we head off to our Lenny Henry endorsed Premier Inn with high hopes for the following days show in Brighton.

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Back in good old Brighton.
After a glass of wine on the promenade, Dan and I bump into an old chum who's now driving the electric railway train along the front and we get a lift, right up the front, along to the venue. That's arriving in style, I tell you. As will a number of fans who flash their Stone Gods t-shirts at us when we board the train and wave us off like in the olden days.
It turns out that two of Big Linda are on the same train and we all agree that we've done the right thing in supporting the oldest electric railway still in use today. Or one of them. I'm not entirely sure, to be honest.

Rodzilla joins the party tonight and he regales us with tales of Macca, Madonna and a mercurial place called Pancot Palace. The usual big rock show is expected.
And it's what happens.

Brighton kicks arse tonight and has its derrière kicked by us in thanks. Everyone's mood is lifted considerably and we all adore the show. Sweaty and loud and fun. Lots of headbangers in the crowd tonight and it really get us all going.

After a brief hello to the fans, I run off with my cousin and some old mates to Riki-Tics (spell check goes mad) and reminisce like a goodun into the wee hours.
Thank you Brighton, as usual, you rule.